Paladin of the Dead God

Chapter 133:

Isaac felt perplexed by the statement that he was being confined for the sake of the empire.

‘Is it not just to suppress rumors about Isolde… but there is a need to confine me within Rougeberg?’

As he pondered the meaning, Isaac realized that indeed, the security in Rougeberg was excessively cumbersome.

If it were truly about securing Isolde’s blessing, it would have been cleaner to connect her with a reliable person and then bury the matter.

Isolde was a strong character.

Although it wouldn’t be pleasant, thinking about her family and her own future, the most trouble-free method was evident. Moreover, the Duke of Brant’s house had enough power to handle it quietly.

Yet, Dietrich had chosen not to do so.

Over several weeks, he had gone through the trouble of finding Isaac and bringing him here, creating and maintaining rigorous security measures, even refusing ships from the Salt Council to dock at Rougeberg.

“You’ve shared this much… does this mean you will explain further?”

Rather than getting angry, Isaac requested an explanation. Dietrich nodded.

“I think I should start with Bishop Juan.”

Isaac was startled by the unexpected name.

“Bishop Juan? I’ve worked with him at Norden Harbor on matters related to the Salt Council, but…”

“Yes, I know. It’s arguably the most famous incident in the empire right now.”

‘What is he talking about?’

Dietrich murmured with a shake of his head.

“Hmm. It was quite an event. A few weeks ago, during a mass presided over by the Pope, Bishop Juan appeared barefoot in the square and began a penitence ritual, tearing his garments.”

“A penitence ritual?”

It was essentially a ritual to confess sins.

In this world where gods are real, after confessing, depending on the sin, divine punishments are meted out. Surviving the punishment of these divine sanctions could result in forgiveness and even blessings.

It was a kind of punishment that the church and even the emperor could not easily impose on anyone, but Juan had voluntarily undergone it.

“He confessed that he had been hiding the fact that he had lost his miracles and had been pretending to be a bishop. Amid his faltering faith, he claimed to have seen a true saint in the turbulent sea and received enlightenment. Are you alright?”

Isaac almost choked but managed to catch his breath.

“I’m fine. Please continue.”

Dietrich smiled and continued.

“This saint, Isaac Issacrea, fought a fallen angel in the North Sea and was gloriously submerged in front of thousands of faithful.”

“…Yes.”

Submerged?

Isaac thought maybe Juan saw it that way.

The Salt Council had anticipated Isaac’s return when the gates to the afterlife opened, but Juan only saw Isaac disappear over the sea with the drowned King.

Whether Juan understood the explanation from the Salt Council was also doubtful.

“Bishop Juan came forward to seek punishment for his sins and then he awaited divine sanction. Suddenly, Bishop Juan’s body began to glow as if on fire, and he sprouted two wings.”

“Wings of Glory?”

Isaac asked, his mouth agape. Dietrich nodded.

“Yes. The faithful were astounded. It was the first appearance of the Wings of Glory in 30 years.”

Isaac knew the Wings of Glory were rare, but he was surprised at their significance. In games, they were treated as a high-level ultimate ability; summoning an angel was even higher.

At first glance, it seemed like a divine act to forgive Juan by granting him the Wings of Glory. However, Isaac remembered that Juan could already perform the Wings of Glory miracle by himself.

So, it was not a symbol of divine forgiveness but possibly a blessing Juan timed for himself.

‘Either he’s a saint appearing once in a century or an incredibly bold fraud. One of the two.’

Given Isaac’s observations of Juan, he was inclined to believe the latter, but the revival of a lost miracle could also mean a complete transformation.

Dramatic experiences can change a person.

“Thanks to this, Bishop Juan is now called the ‘Barefoot Saint’ and is a candidate for cardinal. It’s not easy because those who knew the old Bishop Juan oppose it.”

Cardinal was a powerful position in the church, responsible for one of the three administrative bodies.

Isaac thought it the end of days if Juan took such a position but decided to take it as a good sign since Juan liked him.

Then Dietrich pointed at Isaac and said,

“But at the center of this controversy isn’t Bishop Juan or my daughter, but you, Isaac.”

“Me?”

“Bishop Juan has proclaimed that you martyred yourself fighting the heretical angel. As a result, the faithful are highly energized, almost ready to march towards the holy lands.”

Isaac was baffled.

He was supposedly killed(?) fighting an angel of the Salt Council in the North Sea.

But why suddenly march on the holy lands?

The North Sea and the holy lands were nearly in opposite directions.

After a moment of reflection, Isaac understood the underlying motives.

“The church is instigating this. This whole plot is connected to the Immortal Order.”

“That’s right. It’s a ploy to form the Dawn Army.”

Dietrich responded with a grin.

Considering that the drowned king had tried to become a god with the Immortal Order’s instigation, it wasn’t far from the truth.

However, there was another reason why the church was spreading these conspiracy theories.

The balance of power within the empire currently lay in a delicate equilibrium between the church and the emperor. However, the formation of the Dawn Army would undoubtedly shift the atmosphere towards a more doctrinaire mood within the empire, tipping the balance in favor of the church.

“Even now, they’ve already proclaimed you a saint and are calling for vengeance. They’ve even coined slogans in your name, something like ‘The Blade of Issacrea cries for vengeance!’”

Isaac could hardly keep his mouth shut as the narrative continued to escalate.

He was astounded to find himself inadvertently sanctified. While he had hoped to play a significant role in the formation of the Dawn Army, he did not expect to become its symbol so soon.

Suddenly, Isaac realized that the slogans and sanctification were not the real issue.

The problem was that Isaac was alive.

At that moment, Isaac understood Dietrich’s concerns.

“But you are alive now. It’s curious how the church will take this news, but for the time being, you shouldn’t appear in public recklessly.”

The church likely preferred a martyred hero to a living one as the former was easier to manage.

***

‘Things have gotten complicated.’

As Isaac prepared for the ritual for Isolde, he was deep in thought.

The banquet was scheduled for the next day, but Isaac had no clue how to resolve the current situation.

Juan’s actions had caused a massive ripple effect.

Presumably, it was done out of guilt or fondness for Isaac. The church’s perspective was similar—it was common to canonize a fallen hero as a saint, a respectful tribute.

In this scenario, the person who had done wrong was ironically Isaac, for having come back to life.

Waking up at one’s own funeral was a supremely awkward situation to be in.

Uninvited to his own funeral, Isaac wondered if he needed to marry Isolde to escape this predicament.

Even the church would have trouble meddling with a Duke of Brant’s son-in-law.

It felt as though the times were pushing him into this arrangement.

‘Now that I think about it, I haven’t asked why they’re protecting me. It’s probably because of Isolde, but still…’

At that moment, Isolde, who was preparing for the ritual, spoke up.

“Sir Isaac, you seem troubled.”

“Uh, it’s nothing.”

Having just considered the possibility of marrying Isolde, Isaac tried to appear nonchalant.

Isolde had been sleeping more than she had been awake over the past few days.

Because of this, she hadn’t been maintaining her appearance well, and her face seemed slightly haggard, yet her beauty shone brighter than before—a sign she was assimilating the red flesh correctly.

The aggressive allure from the doctrine of strife had faded, replaced by a captivating charm.

Even without makeup or a beautiful dress, she would be the center of attention at the banquet.

Isaac examined her condition and then spoke.

“How have you been feeling lately?”

“Well, my clothes don’t seem to fit right anymore. Some parts are tight, others are loose…”

Isaac knew exactly which parts she meant, as every encounter with the prophet of the red flesh had confronted her with progressively more provocative attire. The red flesh was affecting not only her aura but her physical form as well.

However, Isolde didn’t seem pleased with these changes.

“It seems you’re not too happy with the changes?”

“A beautiful vessel shines only to sit in a cabinet. I’d rather be a useful vessel, even if it’s slightly chipped.”

Considering the challenging and life-threatening role of an inquisitor she had performed, especially on the frontier, a radiant appearance was probably more of a constraint to her.

“Well, there might be other benefits you’re not aware of yet.”

“Such as?”

“For starters, even without using miracles, your wound regeneration should improve. Your strength, stamina, and reflexes are likely enhanced, and you’ll have increased resistance to curses. It’s uncertain by how much, though.”

The amount of red flesh left by the prophet determined these enhancements. But this was something not even the mirror maid knew for sure.

The larger the residue of the flesh, the greater the power Isolde could wield.

On the downside, although it’s hard to call it a downside, her beauty could become even more pronounced.

Isolde’s mood seemed to lighten at Isaac’s reassurances. Given her consistently grim expressions recently, this change brightened Isaac’s mood as well.

“Let’s keep our spirits up; we’re almost at the end.”

The tricks played by the prophet of the red flesh would ultimately nourish Isolde.

Isaac had no doubt about that.

***

As the curtain of blood descended, a forest emerged.

Isaac, stepping into Isolde’s psychic realm, looked around the unfamiliar scenery in wonder.

The dark forest at dusk felt strangely familiar; soon, Isaac

realized this was the landscape surrounding Arieth Monastery.

“Have you decided to change tactics?”

The prophet was nowhere to be seen. Isaac was not surprised by this hide-and-seek approach; it had happened several times before. The remnants of the doctrine of strife in her psyche aimed to tempt Isaac. Its nature was unchangeable.

Sure enough, shortly after, a shadowy figure dashed between the trees. Isaac immediately gave chase. It was Isolde, running through the forest, but her appearance was different.

‘Inquisitor’s uniform?’

It was the attire Isolde had worn when Isaac first saw her. Isaac quickly caught up to her, the grass brushing against his face, grains of sand sticking between his toes as he pounced, biting into Isolde’s nape. The taste of blood was intense.

With the spreading of blood in the air, the scenery flipped.

Isaac now stood on the steep slope of a ravine, with Isolde once again running ahead. This time, rather than mindlessly following, Isaac paused to examine his own hands.

He was dressed as a Wallachia human hunter.

‘Such petty tricks.’

–TL Notes–

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